


Expectations of Beauty

by t0talcha0s



Category: BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Genre: Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, F/M, Poor Diane can't get a break with these men, Romance, Sex (implied and mentioned), if you're into that sort of thing, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23431111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: Diane McClintock was a romantic at heart, and in action. She refused to let herself be jaded by the world around her, kept her hands tight around the ideal of romance. The world was beautiful, she refused to accept anything else. Especially with Atlas in it. Then, the world was stunning.
Relationships: Atlas/Diane McClintock
Kudos: 1





	Expectations of Beauty

Diane McClintock was a woman known for her expectations. She had high hopes for nearly everything in her life, why she was barely out of elementary school when she began expecting each of her boyfriends to propose after only a few months. In Diane’s mind everything was destined to be something beautiful always. Every bouquet would never wilt, every dress would make her the most desirable woman in the world, every moment of sexual intimacy an entwining of the souls in love and pleasure a perfect portrait of passion in every clutch of fingers and scrape of lips. Diane’s sister used to tell her she watched far too many movies and took them far too seriously. She begged to differ, the world was beautiful and full of light, it was just the negative outlook of jaded people that caused it to be so gloomy. Her sister told her she would one day be negative and jaded too. Diane, at the notion, responded with a gasp and an assertion of 

“Never!”. Her sister was right, but so was she. Diane learned that not everything could be so beautiful all the time and in the wake of this realization she began to focus harder on the beautiful moments, applying her pressure of expectation to the things she knew would have the most beauty for the least risk. She found beauty in the swarms of jellyfish outside her bedroom window on nights when she was too wracked with worry to fall asleep. How glorious were the minutes turned hours she spent at social functions waiting for her fiance to arrive, they provided a wonderful opportunity to socialize with friends who she simply never got to see enough of. Is a single ring on a left hand not more stunning than two? The engagement is the most fun time in the life of a married, or almost married, couple. Besides, the wedding band would detract from the gorgeous, garish ring Andrew had chosen for her. Never mind that it was the same one displayed in the window of the jeweler's, that just means it was likely the most expensive. How easy it was to spin the unfortunate circumstances of her life below the waves into beautiful moments, straw into gold. 

Besides, when things got really ugly, Diane ran. Diane ran from one man to another. 

“A serial dater” her Aunt Lydia had once called her at Sunday brunch “who’s this newest boy?” She asked of a young Diane, emphasizing her point with a forkful of omelet. Diane rolled her eyes good naturedly, smiling to show she was not offended by the comment.

“His name is Benjamin and he’s truly one of the finest young men I’ve ever been acquainted with.” 

“I’m rooting for you Diane.”

“You should root for Us Aunt Lydia.” And her aunt nodded and took another bite of omelet, losing her words in the egg.

Though the princesses in stories were not usually the ones to chase after their princes Diane was fine with a little legwork if her prince was otherwise too busy and hey, it had the same outcome anyway didn’t it? She was able to tell when a man would be good with her, she had great intuition for this sort of thing. She also had a history of infatuation, falling was easy when she was just ready to jump anyway. The newest man on her radar was none other than the powerful, handsomely jawed Atlas. He was famous after all, hard not to fall for those broad shoulders and high cheekbones and rolled up workman's sleeves and all that mystery of course who is atlas? Diane can’t blame herself for falling for him sight unseen, he was everywhere and he was beautiful. Every minute Andrew wasn’t around was a minute spent under the eyes of Atlas. She began to get goosebumps around those posters. 

Diane made her way into Atlas’ life slowly. She would have preferred to enter into his headquarters and tell him she was here to complete his revolution in a way only she could, but that was simply not realistic. 

“When do I get to meet him?” She asked of another woman working the soup line with her. She laughed 

“You’ve got a long way to go before that dearie. He needs to know he can trust you, I haven’t met him yet, only the poor fools on the front lines of the raids get to spend any time with him.” So Diane waited. She waited and listened to the people around her and learned to sew and learned that Andrew had been so, so wrong and that even though she was associated with him these people, these kind resourceful, valiant people accepted her. Accepted her scars and all. Her hands became cracked and dry with work. Her hair became long and tangled. Diane became one of the rebellion, truly. It was beautiful. The acceptance and the drive to fight and the knowledge that every good thing brought her closer to a love she didn’t yet know. Hands beneath torn slip at night, grasping at solitary moments in the bunks wondering who Atlas was, what he would do, just how he would love her. He was bound to. 

Atlas, on their first meeting, lived up to her expectations. He was tall and handsome and smiled that perfect dentistry smile at her and pulled her chair out for her before seating himself. His smile wasn’t perfect though. From where she was sitting she could spot a crooked canine, it was immensely charming. This imperfection shone humanity upon her, how impeccable this poster man come to life. Diane smiled right back, the action tugged the scar on her bottom lip. How imperfect they were together, she couldn’t help but wonder if their imperfections were to meld together if they would become one perfect whole. 

“Ms McClintock,” his voice smooth and accented, Diane always fell for a foreign man. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.” 

“The pleasure is mine alone sir. Call me Diane” 

“Diane then,” how he said it sent a shiver up her spine. “I don’t mean to be indecent in asking but what brought you down here?” She could tell her knew the answer, the tweak of his lips revealing his knowledge of her affection. How smart of him, what a perfect moment of opportunity. She looked into his movie-sky blue eyes

“You did,” a pause “those posters make quite the impact you know. A girl can’t help get curious about this, about you. I wanted to help.”

“You are a tremendous help Diane.” In Diane’s mind this was the moment. He would rise from his seat and come to her, tilting his fingers beneath her chin and she would reach her hands up into the little hairs on the back of his neck and he would smile at the contact and they would kiss and Diane would feel the warmth of his body and she would step away and ask if she would be able to see him again and he would say something clever about how she could see him right now and she would resist no longer and they would kiss and she would let his calloused hands skate over the zipper on her back but not pull it down because a lady has to have mystery too and she wanted to stretch this delicious desire as far and long as possible because my goodness it felt so good to be wanted again, it had been so long. Atlas didn’t rise from his chair. Atlas smiled at her and asked her about her life before in Rapture. 

“Oh,” she said lamely “well I’ve been here since opening day.” She relayed to him an abridged version of her history with Rapture, dancing around her history with Andrew best she could. It was nice to have him listen to her, to have him lean forward in his seat to catch every one of her words. She wondered how he was able to do that, pay such attention to everything she said. It made her dizzy. 

When they were done, had talked for a whole hour, her life and his, stories and plans, Diane felt drunk off of it, off of him. He walked her to the door, held it open for her. It felt so nice to be next to him. He was taller than she was and the warm cave created in the opening between his body and the door, the comfort of his arching arm and his broad shoulders, was intoxicating. Diane could stay there forever. She would if she got her way. 

“Don’t be a stranger Diane.” Something knowing in the set of his lips. His inaction infuriating and delicious. 

“I won’t be.” And out she slipped, praying that the site of her silhouette receding was enough to keep Atlas captivated. 

Their next meeting Diane made it her goal to get action out of the man. She put on her best, least torn, dress. She took the luxury of a shower, scraped up her legs with a razor she had worked to scrape the rust off of, and afterwards her hair curled in lovely little waves about her neck and shoulders. She still had perfume and lipstick, two items she had snuck into her purse on her most recent raid. It was senseless, no need to be beautiful while wielding a shotgun, but she was so happy she had bothered to do so. There was no mirror in her bunk so she took the bottom of a steel pot and checked in sections that every part of her was lovely. Her efforts were not wasted. As Atlas answered her knock at the door she noticed a bit of surprise in the set of his jaw, how his eyes ran over her with an appreciation the result of a man’s hunger and not a revolutionary’s. 

“Diane” he said, a twist in his lips that Diane had never seen before. “How are you?”

“I’m wonderful, it’s nice to have a break from the usual routine. I nearly broke my back carrying everything from yesterday’s raid.” She put a hand on her lower back, curving her shoulders back to show off a bit more of her femininity. 

“It was a success I suppose.” 

“Very, we took down one of those damned big daddys.” 

“Well then Diane, we must celebrate.” He smiled and she smiled in turn, walking further into his headquarters. 

“I suppose we must.” 

Atlas’ lips were chapped but full and nigh-aggressive against Diane’s. He wound his arm around her waist and pulled her into a curve against the warmth of his chest. She placed her hands on his shoulders giving a giggle-gasp as his soft fingers tickled the nape of her neck, at the top of her zipper. It was so nice to kiss someone after so long, someone who put so much into it, drawing everything out of her by the mouth. The cool metal of the zipper made its way down her spine, bringing her chills with each inch it crept downward. She had expected more passion, rougher fingertips and softer lips, little whispers of her name in her ear. His stubble scraped against her shoulder, against her cheek while she clutched his back, surprised by the sound of her moans. She’d heard them before, and she hadn’t meant to let them out, they felt disingenuous and floated about her head as Atlas picked her hips up off the mattress further into his lap. His hands were so soft against her thighs and she couldn’t figure out why that disappointed her. 

She couldn’t figure out why it felt the same after, the way Atlas’ back faced her on the mattress like Andrew’s used to. He had kissed her and skated his hand through her hair, done all the chivalrous things a man should do after sex. He gave her a blanket and leaned in to tuck his body beside hers. She was excited by the concept of retaining his warmth against her. 

“Diane I am going to smoke.” He said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She didn’t know why she felt condescended, why she didn’t ask to accompany him, or better yet purr something like you can smoke here and tangle her legs around his. She nodded, gripped the blanket in her fists as she watched his back make its way to the window. The red light from the tip of his cigarette was a pretty little imitation of a lighthouse and Diane wondered if she should take it as a warning. She had expected perfection, always did from something which could be so close to love, but part of her always knew it to be more of the same. Over and over the same, she should have realized. But she knew she was silly and she would always forget and when Atlas returned and helped her out of bed and zipped her dress up for her and pressed a kiss to her lips as he led her out of the door his eyes were so beautiful and she was so willing to forget.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a spiritual successor to a fic I wrote about Diane and Andrew and one about Atlas' hands (titled Complacent in Knowing and Tender Touches respectively). Just can't get the life of this poor girl out of my head. Alas. 
> 
> You can hmu here or on my little accessed tumblr @Barefootcosplayer


End file.
